Through the Rabbit Hole
by Hasmal
Summary: There once was a boy. You could say he was a bit too normal for a world of magic and miracles, a bit too quiet, too average. Well, that shouldn't matter though. Why? Because he died... or did he?
1. Chapter 1

"After all, to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure."

Albus Dumbledore

"Crucio!"

Waves of pain crashed over my body as screams erupted from my mouth, mixing in with the sounds of the battle that surrounded me. My torturer, Bellatrix Lestrange, offered a maniacal grin in for my agony. Her frizzy hair almost touched my face as she leaned in closer to watch as fear and pain danced across my features.

The battle had begun at dawn as Voldemort's army gathered around the perimeter of the castle grounds.

I lasted a whopping fifteen minutes before accidentally over the charred remains of some poor bloke. I even lost my wand somewhere in his cranial cavity but, considering I was barefoot and still wearing my stylish Batman pyjamas.

The witch found me there and let a cacophony of giggles fall from her lips as she watched me awkwardly scramble through some dead guy's remains. After that, she began with the torture. A sectumsempra here, a couple crucios there, even an occasional healing spell was weaved into her incessant string of spells. She was truly an artist at her craft.

The sun had almost set and yet, no one had come for me. True, I had purposefully kept most at arms length with anyone during my years at Hogwarts, but it was still a bit depressing that not single person, not a classmate, housemate, or even a teacher, came to help me. I couldn't help but wonder what would be said at my funeral. Surely, not a single person but the priest would be there. I was your average student and foot soldier - never bullied nor befriended, not distrusted nor depended upon, neither forgotten nor even noticed to begin with, just always there, like a table or antique lamp.

Why couldn't she just end it already? You'd think Lestrange would get tired of this game. I was just a no-name Hufflepuff, one out of hundreds of students. In a way, it was almost a weird honor that such a powerful Death Eater spent such a long time to kill me rather than just throwing a death curse and walking on by.

Wow, how pitiful am I to need attention from Voldemort's psychotic fangirl in order to boast my ego?

Even through the pain, a lopsided grin forced itself upon my face at the thought. Perhaps thinking that I had finally given up my sanity, Bellatrix raised her wand to point at my face and shrieked the words that hammer the final nail into my coffin.

"Avada kedavra!"

As the last syllable hung in the air, my vision swirled into an emerald green before finally fading into blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

"Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift."

\- Dante Alighieri

Wednesday, September 16th 1942

Tom sighed as he set the books onto the desk then slid into his chair at the front of the class next to a girl from Ravenclaw. As he began organizing his notes for that day's Advanced Rituals class, she looked over at him and attempted a flirtatious smile. He ignored her blunt tries at getting his attention to start a conversation and continued glancing over the class syllabus.

Just then, Professor Grewlford pushed open the door, ten minutes late, though still five minutes earlier than usual. In his hands was a colorful tower of papers trying its best to topple from his grasp. Briskly walking over to his desk, he heaved the stack on it and then plucked a seemingly random piece of pick parchment from the pile.

"So, since we've already finished the review of last year's material, it seems that today we are supposed to be practicing summoning spells. As you all should know if you bothered to read the second to last paragraph on page five of the handouts, we will be using the basic diagrams that you have copied then adjusted from your textbook to summon the creature of whatever variation you chose." A couple students around the room, clearly not having done the assignment, paled. Seeing this, the professor let out a sigh.

"Don't worry. This first practice doesn't count for much credit since I am quite confident that the majority of you will be failing miserably at this and end up with a steaming glob of gunk or the carcass of some long-dead animal unless lady luck takes some pity upon you and gives you a hand in correctly summoning a creature. Because I don't feel like spending my entire class cleaning up your mess. I'll first take some time to give a quick reminder about how this works and what to expect.

Depending upon a variety of key factors, such as your magic core's development, the quality of your summoning circles, your magical affinity, your control over your magic, your intelligence, and so on, the types of creatures that you will summon will vary. Although you might not be successful as of now, by winter break, any half decent wizard here should be able to summon a whole, healthy creature with minimal magical characteristics about the size of a toaster oven. After that, we will begin work with more complex variations of the spell and how to more effectively control the results of your summons. Since this class is fairly small, for those that can pick this up more quickly, they can break off slightly from the usual curriculum and perhaps get the opportunity to work on simultaneous summonings and increasing the magical capabilities of those creatures. One prime example of a wizard successful in the art is your very own Deputy Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. I believe in his prime he could call and control the young acromantula without need of a drawn circle. So, any questions?"

A dark-haired boy in one of the back rows tentatively raises his hand.

"Yes?"

"What is a microwave oven, sir?"

Professor Grewlford's shoulders drooped and he seemed to be holding back another sigh, "Peter, that is rea-"

"Uh, it's Percy, sir."

"Whatever, Patrick, now everyone put your books away and push your desks to the side of the room and find some space to start your preparations. For those of you who missed this assignment, please pay close attention to your classmates so that you do not fall behind."

Tom spread out his inscription in a corner of the room, careful not to smudge to carefully drawn swirl of runes. Then placing a hand to either side of the circle, he sent his magical force into the parchment and then began to chant, "Tibi mittō potestātem et magīam. Prō mūnere, ascultā accitum meum et de terrīs, caelīs, aut maribus huc venī mihi."

As the last words of the spell rung out through the air, the paper glowed with a golden brilliance. In lazy strands, the ink started to detach itself from the page to float elegantly through the air. The wiry strands began to congeal together, outlining the form of a muscular back, clawed paws and a fierce mane. However, just as the creature seemed about to take on life, the gentle strings of magic shattered into blades of charcoal black and began a frenzied dance around the classroom.

The other students ceased their own spells to watch with mouthes agape as the Slytherin's magic crashed around the room, knocking over books, sending paper flying into the air, and sending out sparks of sizzling emerald. The storm of power didn't last long however as it crashed together in one blaze.

As the flares burnt themselves into nothingness, a single figure was revealed, unmoving on the stone floor.

Yelling at one of his housemates to get Healer Flaweather, Tom bent down to check for signs of life. Finding a faint pulse in the Radial artery, he sat back to wait for the nurse to arrive. Tom took this time to more carefully look over the stranger that he seemed to have summoned - parchment-pale skin in contrast with raven black hair; Raggedly torn wounds and charred flesh standing out all too well against a dark pool of robes; the crackle of powerful curses raging through that seemingly fragile form.

Fighting mixture of pain and numbness, I cracked open my eyes and I met with a face I never thought to see. To many of the war, it wasn't a face any would have cause to frown at. In fact, many would find it charming. However, it was one that I had seen once before, staring out from the weathered paper of an aged photo.

To be honest, it scared me much more than the monstrous man with wild blued eyes filled with madness and ambition. The amber-eyed boy, who had yet to murder, yet to hate, yet to tear apart his very soul, was kneeling there in a puddle of my blood as serene as if he was simply picking up a book he might have dropped in the library. He was like a china doll: beautiful, but empty of life, seemingly empty of anything in fact.

Silver eyes met Tom's, and, just for a brief moment, were so full of pain, sadness, and hatred, he had to hold back a shudder. Those pools of liquid mercury seemed to be trying to condemn the Slytherin of some great sin, but of what Tom could not say. Then, it was gone and those eyes were as vacant as if death had already taken the boy away. His lips, tinged with blood, parted slightly and Tom caught the barest hint of a whisper slipping from the stranger's mouth.

"...and I thought I escaped..."

...

Pinky promise to go back and edit later :)


	3. Chapter 3

"Hell is loving you in my sleep and waking up alone."

\- Casey, "Hell"

 _His breathing was heavy as he forced his lungs to take in the frigid air of the room, putrid with rot. Although his eyes had yet to become accustomed to the pervading darkness, he knew exactly where he was. Struggling to move himself off the hard stone floor, iron shackles rubbed harshly against his already blistering wrists. His only acknowledgement of the pain was a quiet grunt as he pushed himself up into a sitting position._

 _In front of him was a dark metal chair, the only thing in the room that wasn't grimy or rusting. He could think back to days on end of him locked in this little room, facing that chair, scream upon scream erupting from his lips until his vocal cords seemed about to snap. Shaking away the thoughts, he heard the faint squeaks of rats and quickly moved himself to cover_ _one of the more bloodier whip lashes on his stomach with his hands, knowing from experience that all manner of vermin would soon be attracted by the coppery stench that clung to him._

 _Suddenly, light poured into the room as in one swift movement the door was pulled open. In the doorway, he saw a handsome man dressed in simple, yet clearly expensive dark robes. His aristocratic features and the upward tilt of his chin would give him away to any as a pureblood. In the man's eyes, there lays a thick film of disgust._

 _Father._

With a shudder, consciousness strikes me a heavy blow and my eyes flit open before squinting to slits as the light cascading into the room from high, airy windows attacks them mercilessly.

After scrunching up my face in defense, I become aware of the steady click of shoes hitting tile as well as the soft rustle of fabric. Once my eyes have adjusted, I dare to once more take a peak at my surroundings. A plump, middle-aged woman comes into my view holding a clipboard and bustling around the bed, occasionally muttering spells to maintain my condition and check my status.

I move slightly, purposefully rustling the sheets, and the woman finally lifted her head, looking as if I just screamed the Elder Swear at the top of my lungs. Clearly, she did not expect me to wake up any time soon.

"My goodness, I see you are finally awake! Right now, you're at Hogwarts, you know where that is, don't you? Of course you do. Well, I'm going to go inform Headmaster Dippet that you are conscious and then I'll be right back to take a few more tests. You came in with some pretty nasty injuries, poor dear. Now rest a bit longer while I'm away and make sure not to move around yet. Most of it's been healed but there are still a couple spells working on some of your heavier injuries. Now I'll be right back, ok?" and then she was off before I could even say 'Despacito'.

Sighing, I tried to look around a bit and figure out what was happening, however, the rest of the room was blocked from my sight by a sheet that had been hung around the bed for privacy. _'Something is clearly not right here, but I don't seem to be in any peril at the current moment. Okay, let's first go ahead and make a list of all the things I know':_

1\. I was hit with the killing curse by Bellatrix and therefore should be dead.

2\. I am not dead _yet._

3\. From what the nurse said, it seems I am currently in Hogwarts, though the building appears to be intact from what I can see.

4\. I would gather from this that perhaps the potency of the curse was weakened somehow and I have been in a coma, which would make me 'the-other-kid-who-didn't-die-from-that-supposedly-all-killing-curse'.

5\. I can presume that Harry won since I am neither dead nor placed in a dungeon.

6\. Hogwarts seems to be currently run by some man named Dippet. I would have thought Mcgonagall would have been placed in charge. Hopefully she is only recovering or perhaps running the reconstruction. The name Dippet does sound familiar though.

7\. I'm hungry. I am SO freaking hungry.

I look over to the nightstand next to the bed and, beyond all hopes, find a single chocolate bar lying there next to a glass of water. I don't really have the strength yet to sit up so I awkwardly scoot to the edge of the bed and stretch my arm out as far as I can without falling off, but still my finger tips only just barely graze its wrapper.

I stifle a groan and weigh the repercussions of standing up with my irate stomach's mutiny. However, to my good fortune, narrow hands, wrinkled with time, appear out of nowhere and pluck up the candy bar before passing it over to mine. I immediately know these were the hands of a kind soul who graciously has taken the experience and knowledge to him by life. Looking up, I saw a face that was, again, vaguely familiar, but that I couldn't quite place.

"Hello and welcome to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. My name is Headmaster Dippet and this is my colleague, the Deputy Headmaster and the Transfiguration professor, Dumbledore. How are you feeling?"

Did he just say Dumbledore? His mind snapped back to eleven years old, staring at the figure of a tall, silver-haired man and loathing him for what he could not see - him who had been hailed as one of the greatest wizards of the era, had missed in the eyes of a child, wishing to be saved.

Reigned in his emotions, the boy focused his eyes on the Professor Dumbledore next to Headmaster Dippet and immediately understood. Red beard, ugly robes, and that ghastly twinkle in his eyes - it was the same man from his memories, younger, but no less aggravating. To be honest, he had known it was impossible for it to be anyone else. Fate had quite a nasty temperament, especially towards him. She seemed to simply love to pull the worst surprises out of her endless bag of ironic twists and unfortunate coincidences just for him.

Oh, wait. He'd asked a question. It's already been at least twenty seconds by now. I bet they are starting to wonder whether I can even speak English. Shut up, self, and just respond before they think I'm more slow than I've already suggested myself to be.

"Decent, considering the circumstances, sir."

"And what might those circumstances be, my boy?" questioned Dumbledore, his usually twinkling eyes sharpened as he interjected before Dippet could gather the time to respond.

"Now, Professor, no need to push the boy. He's clearly been through much,"

"It's fine, it's fine," I say as my mind starts to quickly throw together a reasonable story, "but first, what's the date? My mind feels hazy."

"September 19th, Friday."

"And the year?"

I know I'm not selling the 'unsuspicious and totally sane' part here, but I was in all types of pain not too long ago, they could expect a little crazy.

"1942."

"Coo-, I mean groovy, yeah totally groovy." 'Groovy' is what they said now, right? Maybe? How smooth. They'll never figure this out.

"Then it would have been... five days ago, I think. I was sleeping in my room when I heard shouting, crashing, then screaming. So many screams. and laughing. They started laughing. That's when I ran downstairs. I found him there, my grandfather, right beside the stairway, lying on the floor. The blood. There was so much. There was a group of men standing around. I tried to get out, but, but they caught me. It hurt, so much. All I could hear was their laughter as they tortured me. And screaming. I think that was me, but I don't know. After that, all I could think that I needed to run, to fight, to do _something._ But I couldn't. I couldn't even see them anymore. I think they had cast some kind of blinding hex. All I could do was _lie there_ next to the corpse of my own grandfather, waiting for it to be over. I don't know what happened next. I must have blacked out." I stared at them and tried to summon some ounce of emotion to mold my face into that of a victim, an innocent, but I felt empty, blank.

I was too tired to pull on the mask.

Headmaster Dippet's face wilted with concern, "I'm so sorry! You have been through too much for someone so young Do you have any relatives or friends that we can contact for you?"

I slowly shook my head, "None that I can remember. Everything but that night is muddled."

After shaking my head, he looks even more upset if possible. He begins strolling up and down the length of the bed, still cordoned off by the long white sheet. While I watch him pace, I chew on my chocolate and continue to sort out what was happening, but it's too much. After all, this was impossible. It would be more likely he currently was holed up in some prison cell or hospital ward, insane and trapped in some twisted hallucination formed from a jumble of information.

"Well then, if you don't have anyone right now with which you can stay, you'll just have to become a ward of Hogwarts, won't you..."

"Dante. Dante Azarius."

"Dante," the Headmaster offers me a small smile, "I hope that you can find a home here at Hogwarts. I'll let Healer Flaweather get back to checking on you for now," He gives my a small wave then trotted off, his face quite bright and free of worry. Dumbledore's, on the other hand, is crumpled into a frown of distrust as he pushes aside the curtain and follows.

A few moments later, the nurse dragged in a rolling stool and perched herself upon it.

"Now, I've already completed the exams and procedures that you need while you were asleep - all that's left is a psych evaluation then I will give you a sleeping drought so that you can rest a bit longer."

Psych test?

"Oh, don't worry about this, honey, this is just standard procedure for those coming out of the war. All that happens is I say a word, then you just say the first word or phrase that pops into your head. Doesn't that sound easy? Just like a game."

I don't like games, and I certainly won't just play along with hers.

"All righty, here's your first word: Magic."

 _Weapon._

"Um, gift?"

She bobbed her head in confirmation that I understood and continued, "White."

 _Ashes._

"Black."

"Love."

 _Never._

"Always."

"Family."

 _Prison._

"Home."

"Truth."

 _I shall not tell lies._

"Justice."

"Vampires."

 _Throat._

"Sparkly."

She gave me a bit of an odd look for that one.

"Sleep."

 _Nightmare._

"Dream."

"Enemy."

 _Voldemort. Oh crud, Tom Riddle._

"Grindelwald."

...

Slowest. updates. ever. In my defense though, the first update I messed up because I thought I had uploaded it, but it didn't go through and I didn't realize till a month or so later. This one... my computer went kablooie and I couldn't find my saved file so I thought it had gotten deleted. Also, I will edit, eventually.

Maybe.


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